


girl inform me

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: College era, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Foggy will eventually believe him, Girl!Foggy, Matt will prove his love with orgasms, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, this is the plot of the porn coda second chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:31:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5072773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have a question for you, Murdock,” Foggy says, slamming into Matt’s room. He could hear her flats tapping angrily on the linoleum floors in the hallways from the second she stepped into the dorm three floors down.</p><p>“Yes?” he asks, turning towards her as she toes off her shoes at the door, feet padding softly on the carpet.</p><p>“Do you think I would get expelled,” she asks, boosting herself up onto the desk next to Matt’s laptop,  “if I punched out the next trust fund having, J. Crew wearing, future Republican senator doucheface who refers to us as the ‘the chubby lesbian and the blind guy?’ Because, first of all, that’s not even accurate, I’m bi as hell—and, second of all, we have names.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the kink meme all had a collective moment of feelings about chubby girl Foggy last night, I think <3
> 
> eta: I WENT UN-ANON AND ADDED MYSELF AS A CO-AUTHOR BECAUSE I'M GREEDY AND THIS GOT A LOT OF KUDOS.

“I have a question for you, Murdock,” Foggy says, slamming into Matt’s room. He could hear her flats tapping angrily on the linoleum floors in the hallways from the second she stepped into the building three floors down.

“Yes?” he asks, turning towards her as she toes off her shoes at the door, feet padding softly on the carpet.

“Do you think I would get expelled,” she asks, boosting herself up onto the desk next to Matt’s laptop, “if I punched out the next trust fund having, J. Crew wearing, future Republican senator doucheface who refers to us as the ‘the chubby lesbian and the blind guy?’ Because, first of all, that’s not even accurate, I’m bi as hell—and, second of all, we have _names_.” 

“I think they probably wouldn’t admit to being punched out by a girl,” he says, smiling at her. She’s shaking a little, enough that he can feel it where his hands are resting on the desk. She must be really pissed. 

“Or a blind guy,” Foggy says, a little fiercely. “Hey, we could punch them together. It would be an excellent bonding experience, really cement our friendship.” 

“There’s, uh, something of a visual element to punching that alludes me,” Matt says, smirking even as his brain sings softly: _lie, lie, lie._

“How about kicking?” Foggy asks. “Just a little kicking? Like in the ribs. . .or maybe balls? I’m waggling my eyebrows at you.”

“How about we kick their asses in partnered mock trials next week instead?” Matt offers, brushing his knuckles against her knee. “Which, by the way, we were going to do anyway.” 

“Well, it doesn’t seem as satisfying as physically harming them,” she says, breezily, “but I guess it’ll have to do.”

Matt can hear the smile in her voice now, the way it makes her words lilt up a little. His fingers itch to touch it, run over the corners of her mouth where they’re turned up, but he’s used to that. It’s easy to tamp down, most days. 

*

Foggy’s heart went crazy the first time she met Matt, at freshman orientation in undergrad. They got paired together for some lame ice breaker activity. After reluctantly talking about their spirit animals for a couple of minutes, Foggy cracks a joke that makes Matt choke on a laugh, and then she says, “Alright, handsome, let’s sneak out of here before we have to talk about our childhoods. I’ll show you where this place keeps both their best coffee and their hottest girls.” 

“Are you going to describe them to me?” Matt asks. 

“Absolutely, I’ve got a way with words and I’m a stellar wingman,” Foggy replies, as they leave out the back while people are starting to hold hands in a circle to do something that is probably terrible. Matt’s grateful, and he’s even more grateful when he feels her fingers brush against his arm, a wordless question. He’s been grabbed and tugged by a lot of campus tour guides in the past year.  
Foggy makes a small pleased noise when he offers his arm for her to take, small hand closing gently on his elbow as she steers them out of the building.

*

They drift closer to each other for a couple of months, running into each other a few time before they exchange numbers and Foggy starts leaving him funny voicemails until he agrees to, in her words, stop being a hermit and at least come study with her, if he’s going to be such a nerd. 

Foggy’s roommate immediately found a boyfriend during orientation and is never in their room, so it’s always quiet except for Foggy’s voice, bright and pleasant. Matt, who has maybe actually never felt comfortable a day in his entire life, doesn’t even want to leave the first time he comes over to study. There’s something about Foggy that makes him feel warm and _okay_.  
After that, they’re pretty inseparable. 

It’s after finals week their freshman year that they get way too drunk, tequila drunk, and Matt asks to touch Foggy’s face so he can actually know what she looks like. After she spent the first day they met colorfully describing girls in the coffee shop for him, he’d asked her to describe herself and she’d laughed, said, “I’m okay. Nothing compared to 90s Britney Spears in the corner over there, _wow_ , hit me, baby, one more time,” and never picked it up again. 

Now, she says, “Uhm, yeah, okay,” and sits cross-legged in front of him on her bed. Her heart’s racing. It hasn’t been doing that as much, lately, around him, but it picks up the pace when his fingers brush over her cheeks. They’re soft and warm where she’s blushing, a gentle slope of cheekbones down to where he can feel her lips push up and open in a quiet, nervous laugh. 

“Is this how you get all those ridiculously pretty girls into bed?” she asks. “Because I don’t see the appeal.”

Matt ignores her to smooth his fingers over her eyebrows, gently under her eyes, fingertips brushing her eyelashes. She’s not wearing mascara. He can smell makeup on her most of the time, but she doesn’t always wear it when it’s just them.

When his fingers brush over her jaw, then the soft skin curving underneath, she jerks away.

“Sorry,” she says. “Too weird.” 

“Sorry,” he echoes, dropping his hands.

“No, no, it’s not you,” she says. “I’m just too drunk to deal with whatever you might be thinking about my face. Even if it’s nice things. Too drunk even for compliments, which is pretty drunk, because I love a good compliment. I’m just going to go throw up in my own room now.” 

And then she’s gone, before Matt gets a chance to say anything or drunkenly kiss her, which is what he really wanted to do. It’s a good line. He thought maybe it would actually work.

The next morning, they get brunch and Foggy says, “Guess who wants to sexually experiment! And it’s not me, because been there, done that.” 

“Marci? Is it Marci?” Matt asks. “Could it be Marci?” 

He’s been hearing about nothing but Marci Stahl and how smart and funny and well-endowed she is for weeks at this point. 

“You’re correct,” she says, happily. 

“I’m very happy for you,” Matt says, which is mostly a lie, but he’s good at those.

“Thank you,” Foggy replies. “You know, I think I’m going to lead off by asking if I can touch her face. I’ve heard that works on all the girls.” 

“Not you,” Matt says, and Foggy laughs. 

“I’m immune to your wiles, Murdock,” she says, into her coffee. 

That one was a lie.

*

By the time Matt knows that he’s got feelings for Foggy that aren’t going away, sorted everything out in his fucked up head to finally deal with it, they’re already best friends and her heart barely does anything noticeable around him. He listens enough that it would be weird, if anybody else knew.

It’s better if they’re friends, anyway. Neither of them can seem to keep a real relationship, and he can’t imagine losing Foggy at this point.

They get an apartment together for law school, separate rooms so Foggy doesn’t think anything about bringing people home. He stops trying to block the sounds she makes while Marci’s eating her out or she’s getting fucked by one of the guys in her study group who leaves before the sun comes up but wakes her up to say goodbye (Foggy says, “You’re real cute but never talk to me before 7:00 AM again,” and Matt huffs out a laugh, two rooms over).

They always call Foggy beautiful, gorgeous, and she lets them. Matt wishes that he could, too.

Instead, he just tries to be the best friend that he can be, because at least he has that. 

*

The friends thing works out fine until Matt punches a guy in the face in front of Foggy. Which was really inevitable, because they’re together a lot and people are terrible and Matt really likes to punch things. He’s a big fan.

They’re at a party in Marci’s building when Foggy gets in an argument with one of their classmates, some guy named Ted whose dad owns the entire Midwest or something. She says something biting, and he replies, “That means a lot coming from some bitch who can only get a blind guy to fuck her,” and then Matt punches him in the face.

Kind of a lot. 

Somebody pulls them apart, and Matt feels Foggy’s hand on his arm, tugging him out of the apartment and into the hallway.

“What,” she says, “the ever living _hell_ , Murdock.”

“He was an asshole,” Matt says, still breathing heavily. He’s got blood on his knuckles.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, taking his hand to check it for damage. “People are assholes. It’s what they do. That doesn’t mean we go around actually punching them in the face—weren’t you the one who told me that?” 

“People shouldn’t say things like that about you,” Matt says, ignoring her question. 

“No, they shouldn’t,” Foggy says. “I’m great, but that’s kind of what I get for just being kind of cute and throwing my lot in with a dude who has a face that would make an angel weep.”

“You’re _beautiful_ , Foggy,” he says, because, god, he’s wanted to say it and he _means_ it, no lie, heartbeat steady. He’s got multiple references that he can never tell her about without informing her that he’s a creep with super-powered senses, and he knows her—the soft curves of her body against his when she falls asleep next to him in the middle of the movie she was describing, the sweep of her hair over her shoulders, her _laugh_.

“You, too, buddy,” she says. “Now let’s get your drunk ass out of here before Ted calls his daddy on you for ruining his pretty face.” 

“No, no, Foggy,” he says, sliding a hand against her face. Foggy goes still and quiet, shaky under his hand. Heartbeat a frantic _thud thud thud._ He leans in to kiss her, but Foggy turns away, so his lips brush her hair. 

“Don’t do this because you feel sorry for me,” she says, hoarsely. “I can’t take that, Matt.”

“I’ve wanted to do this for _years_ ,” Matt says, into her hair. It smells like vanilla and cheap beer and it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled.

“ _Years_?” she asks. 

Matt nods.

“. . .then why the hell didn’t you, dumbass,” Foggy deadpans, then laughs when Matt kisses her in reply, wrapping her up in his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ACCIDENTAL PORN CODA: “I can’t sleep with you yet,” Foggy says, breathlessly, on their living room couch with one hand tucked into the waistband of Matt’s jeans. Matt rests his forehead against hers, nodding. 
> 
> “Okay,” he agrees. 
> 
> “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Foggy continues, “because it is literally the only thing I want to do now. At all. That’s it. Seriously, let’s drop out of law school and fuck until we die. But just not until I’m sober and sure that you haven’t been replaced by, like, an automaton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WENT TO CHURCH AND THEN WORK AND SPENT ALL DAY THINKING ABOUT MATT GOING DOWN ON GIRL!FOGGY SO HERE YOU FUCKING GO.

“I can’t sleep with you yet,” Foggy says, breathlessly, on their living room couch with one hand tucked into the waistband of Matt’s jeans. Matt rests his forehead against hers, nodding.

“Okay,” he agrees.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Foggy continues, “because it is literally the only thing I want to do now. At all. That’s it. Seriously, let’s drop out of law school and fuck until we _die_. But just not until I’m sober and sure that you haven’t been replaced by, like, an automaton.”

“I’m not a robot, Foggy,” Matt says, smiling.

“A Matt bot programmed to destroy me,” she replies, arching up to kiss him again before poking him in the side. “Where do you keep the batteries?” 

Matt jumps and laughs, just this side of a giggle, and Foggy rests her cheek against his so he can feel her beaming.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says, warmly, smoothing a hand over his t-shirt. “It’s really you.”

“Could we sleep in the same bed?” he asks.

“Head to feet?”

“I’d like to hold you,” he says, hesitantly, and Foggy’s breath catches a little.

“Like a sexless old couple about to die in each other’s arms,” she says, musingly. “Yeah, we can do that. I’m kind of curious about your ridiculous silk Casanova sheets, too, so I’d like to give them a shot.”

He gets off of her and helps her to her feet, pulling her into one more kiss before she steps away with a gasp and says, “ _Damn,_ ” as she stumbles towards her room. He listens to the sound of her slowly changing out of her clothes, pausing in the middle of doing the same when he hears her start to speak to herself quietly.

“Alright, this is real,” she says. “This is happening. He might just be drunk and everything might be weird in the morning, but. . .might as well pretend while you can. Okay. Go team.”

It hurts, a little, to know that she can’t see how much he loves her just from his face, but Matt knows he’s good at hiding. He’s made an art of it. He also knows that he’s going to have a lot of fun convincing Foggy exactly how much he means this, whenever she’s ready.

She takes awhile to come back, probably keeping the rest of her pep talk internal, and she starts talking as soon as she crosses into his room.

“Marci says you broke Richie Rich’s nose,” she says, shutting the door behind her. “Everyone told him he had it coming, though, so he’s not going to press charges or anything. She also told me to compliment you on your confusingly accurate right hook.”

Foggy stands in the middle of his room for a long moment before Matt reaches out a hand to her. She makes a soft affirmative noise and crawls into bed next to him, tangling their fingers together.

“How _did_ you hit him like that?” she asks.

“I could hear where his face was,” Matt says, flatly, “because of all the bullshit coming out of it.”

Foggy laughs, and it feels like they’ve been doing this forever. Probably because they should have been. She shifts closer, and Matt pulls her into his arms so they’re close. She’s wearing soft pajamas bottoms and an old tank top, washed threadbare with detergent she steals from Matt when she runs out of hers. The smell makes something inanely possessive shoot through him.

“Good to know you can protect my honor, I guess,” she murmurs.

“Like you weren’t about to punch him yourself,” Matt says.

“I was going to throw my whiskey soda at him,” she replies, delicately, “because I’m a lady.”

“Of course,” Matt agrees, nuzzling against her neck. They settle into each other, and Matt catalogues exactly how this feels in his head, just in case Foggy’s the one who wakes up and regrets it in the morning. She’s soft all over, little curves and dips. Warm wherever she’s touching his skin. The part of him that’s not even slightly a gentleman wants to slide a hand under her tank top and touch the stomach she tries to hide, slide up until he can cup her breasts.

He should probably stop thinking about that right now.

“You know, I really regret saying I don’t want to sleep with you yet,” Foggy says, her head tucked under Matt’s chin, breathing light and even. He thought she was falling asleep already, starts a little at the sound.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she replies, in a whisper, “but now I’ve got to keep cool about it so that Murdock guy doesn’t figure out just how much I want him. Namely, an insane amount. Don’t tell him I told you.”

“I would never,” Matt promises, pressing a kiss against her hair.

*

He wakes up with Foggy half on top of him, mouth open and wet on his collarbone, and he can’t hide the smile that breaks out on his face. He runs a gentle hand over her back, stopping to rest on warm skin where her tank top’s rucked up, and she stirs against him.

“Oh,” she murmurs. “Oh, I’m still here.”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees.

“. . .I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” she says, in a huff of breath near his throat. She rolls gingerly away from him, shuffling off the bed and heading towards the bathroom. His breath catches in his throat when she leaves, but then he hears her murmuring, “You can do this, Nelson. You love him. Just be a person who _does_ _things_.”

He gets up and follows her out, elbowing her a little so she’ll make room for him at the sink.

“How hungover are you on a scale of one to that one time freshman year when you touched my face?” Foggy asks, with a mouthful of toothpaste.

“About a four,” Matt replies. “Reminiscent of that night, though.”

“Yeah? Well, face touching,” Foggy says, laughing, on the edge of nervous.

“I wanted to kiss you then, too,” he says, lets his voice dip lower, and Foggy chokes on toothpaste. She spits in the sink, coughing loudly.

“You can’t say things like that to a girl when she’s practicing good oral hygiene, buddy,” she gasps. He reaches a hand out to brush over hers, gripping the edge of the sink, and she turns it over to lace their fingers together.

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s true, though.”

“That long?” she asks.

Matt nods, and she lets out a shuddering breath.

“I didn’t think I even had a chance with you,” she says, after a long silence where he moved so his chest was close to her back, not quite touching. “Just in general, but then when you actually knew what I looked like compared to the girls you’d been with—I mean, the _Greek girl?_ She wasn’t even real, she was definitely a hot robot, and. . .I’m. . .I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have my good qualities, but I’m not—”

“You’re beautiful,” Matt interrupts, firmly, sliding his free hand over her waist. Her hand grips his a little tighter.

“If you say so,” Foggy says, laughing quietly.

“I mean it,” he says, maybe a little too fierce, but he hates the idea that Foggy might think she’s not good enough—has been thinking she’s not good enough. “Do you want me to touch your face again and then tell you?”

“No,” she says, leaning back into him. “It was weird. I’d like to officially lift the sex moratorium, though, if you’d like to prove your enthusiasm for my good looks by other means.”

Matt smiles at her, a big loose smile that he knows she likes to see, and she lets go of his hand to turn around and lean up into a kiss.

“Let it be known,” she mumbles, into his mouth, “that I resisted sleeping with you for at least eight hours and should be rewarded magnificently.”

“I can do that,” Matt says, agreeably, then lifts her up and off her feet. Foggy makes a sharp, surprised noise, wrapping her legs around his hips.

“Holy fuck, you can lift me,” she says, a little frantic, fingers digging into his back. “Of course you can lift me, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Murdock—just a world of fucking possibilities, oh my god, please kiss me again.”

He kisses her as he carries her out into the living room, sitting her down gently before dropping to his knees in front of her, touching careful fingertips to her thighs.

“ _Matt_ ,” she says, so sweetly, maybe surprised, and Matt traces his fingers up to her hip, asking permission. Foggy lifts herself up so he can pull down her pajama pants, throwing them across the room so she giggles, shifting to part her legs a little. He could smell how wet she was in the bathroom but now, this close, it’s almost overwhelming.

He presses kisses to her thighs, nosing at them until she opens them wider and he can lean in.

“Matt, Matthew, wait,” she says, and Matt raises his head. She runs her fingers through his hair gently for a moment before she asks, seriously, “Are you sure the Pope will be okay with us having premarital sex?”

Matt frowns at her and she laughs, a big real laugh that gets cut off when Matt licks from her hole to her clit in one go. She swears a brilliant streak of words that ends with his name, bucking up a little, fingers still buried in his hair.

“Point taken,” she says, breathily, and then, “Oh my _god_ , your tongue,” when Matt licks a circle around her clit before pressing the flat of his tongue against it, slowly dragging it up.

Foggy makes soft, appreciative moans and keeps petting his hair, which makes Matt want to do better, so he strokes a finger over her cunt, around her hole until she says, “No, yeah, please, come in,” with a huff of laughter. He fucks her slowly while his tongue is still on her clit, two fingers curling and pressing inside of her until she’s mostly just murmuring his name, voice pitched higher. She can never know that he knows exactly what she sounds like before she’s about to come, because that way lies confessions he’s not ready for and also _shame_ ¸ but she’s almost there, a little hitched sob of, “ _Please,”_ as he pushes his fingers in deeper and rubs his thumb where her skin’s tight around them.

He leans in a little closer to suck on her clit and she groans, arching up again and again as she comes, tight and wet around his fingers.

She pushes aimlessly at his head when she gets too sensitive, laughing lowly as he slowly pulls his fingers out and trails them over the inside of her thigh.

“Believe me yet?” he asks.

“That I’m beautiful?” she returns, then moans a little when he licks his own fingers clean. “Jesus, Matt. I don’t know.”

“Guess I’ll have to keep trying,” he says, gamely, and Foggy kisses back enthusiastically when he crawls into her lap.

“Oh, no, I guess you will,” she says, when she pulls apart to hide her head in his neck. “Maybe _two_ mind-blowing orgasms will reverse the damage from all four years of my high school awkward stage.”

“Maybe three,” he says, contemplatively, then grins sharply at the way Foggy gasps a little.

Yeah, he’s going to have fun with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOPEFULLY THIS IS THE END BECAUSE I'M OVERWHELMED WITH EMOTION. THANKS FOR READING.


End file.
